


The Secret Blog of Dr. John H. Watson

by Superwholocked77



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles, Snogging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:26:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1876527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superwholocked77/pseuds/Superwholocked77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slow week at 221B Baker Street leads to some new things in the flat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how well this will be received, and any updates will most likely be based upon that. In any case, I hope you like it!

The whole last week had been slow, so you can imagine the state of my flatmate.  
Sherlock hadn't moved from the couch since the night before when I went to bed. He did this often enough, but it still worried me; as a doctor, I knew it wasn't healthy. But, as usual, he seemed completely unaffected by his self-neglect.  
It was on that day that I decided that I'd had enough.  
That afternoon after making a run to Tesco, I bustled about the kitchen, making tea while avoiding Sherlock’s latest experiments. As I waited for the water to boil, I attempted to straighten up a bit, but resistance of that mess was futile. The kettle clicked off and I gave up. I balanced the two mugs in my hands as I shuffled into the sitting room.  
Sherlock’s eyes opened at the sound of his cup being set down on the coffee table, then narrowed slightly when I shoved his feet off the couch to make a spot for myself. Said feet immediately took up residence in my lap, but I ignored them in favour of switching on the telly.  
“Channel 52.”  
My head turned towards him sharply. “What?”  
“You heard me, and you know how I loathe repeating myself,” came the cutting reply.  
I became infinitely more confused when that channel turned out to be a marathon of Doctor Who. “I thought you didn’t like Doctor Who?”  
He hesitated, and then mumbled, “But you do.”  
At this point, I gave up trying to rationalize my flatmate’s behaviour and turned my attention towards the screen.  
~ ~ ~  
I didn’t realize I had fallen asleep until my eyes opened and registered the darkness outside the window. My first observation was obviously the time of day—or night, in this case. The second was that teleshopping was broadcasting at that time. The third was that I was no longer sitting by the arm of the couch. No, somehow, my body had fallen to the side and was lying across the couch.  
The fourth was that instead of plush cushion under my head, there was a warm, hard chest in its place and that limp legs pressed against either side of my torso.  
Carefully, I turned my head back, noting how a hand slid off it at the same time. Sherlock was sound asleep beneath me, a look of peace on his face. He looked more innocent without his smirk or cold unfeelingness. I didn’t find it odd that I was tucked against another man—not just any man, but this man. Instead, I rolled to my side, taking care not to wake him, and fell back into a deep slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work was inspired by fanart that I found by reapersun and can be found at this link: http://37.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lqo08dtw2I1qjiwx5o1_500.jpg


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, I woke to find Sherlock sitting in his chair with his laptop propped on his knees. He looked up as I stretched and his penetrating gaze followed me into the kitchen; I could feel it drilling into my back.  
"Tea?" I called over my shoulder.  
"That would be nice," he answered. "Do we have any eggs?"  
"I believe so." I moved to the fridge and pulled them out, studiously ignoring the severed hands.  
The eggs were cooked, the tea was made, and we moved through breakfast and the rest of the day without mentioning our sleeping situation the night before. But as the shadows lengthened, my flatmate sat beside me on the couch.  
At first, I continued to read my book. That is, until a dark, curly mop of curls made its appearance on my lap. I started, turning my head to take in the way he draped his arms over the sides and his legs over the opposite arm, eyes shut. My own eyes studied his face; the angular cheekbones and lashes a shade darker than his hair. Then, they traveled south over he pale bit of chest that showed above his tight purple shirt.  
Stop it, I told myself. No matter what you did last night, this is Sherlock Holmes: the Man with No Emotions. My inner scolding worked a bit, and I was able to turn my attention back to my novel. This didn't, however, stop my hand from tangling itself in the dark mass of curls that rested atop my thigh.  
~ ~ ~  
We remained like that until long after the sun went down. The flat was encased in darkness, the only source of light being the lamp I used to read by. The rustling of pages and silent breathing of the two of us echoed through the darkness.  
The peace was broken by Sherlock when he shifted his head just enough to allow his curls to thread their way through my hand. I looked down, meeting his bright eyes. Automatically, my brain attempted to pinpoint the exact color. That train of thought was violently derailed as he leaned up on one elbow, placing our faces inches apart. His other hand drew up to gently rest on my cheek. Subconsciously, my head tilted into that thin-fingered hand, and I knew that his great brain picked up on it.  
Said hand carded through my hair, coming to a stop at the base of my skull. He leaned forward, using the leverage he had to hold me there-- not that it ever crossed my mind to resist.  
Our lips brushed lightly at first, chaste and almost tentative. They moved against each other slowly, simply adapting to the new movements. We let the kiss break naturally, meeting each others' eyes after. Since he probably didn't know much about this aspect of life, I took control and pulled him close for another kiss. This time, I gently probed his lips, asking for permission to take the kiss a little bit further. He granted, and I darted in to explore his mouth. He tasted of tea and takeaway, our dinner earlier that evening. As I pulled my tongue back, Sherlock's tentatively followed. I allowed him full access, and he stroked along every inch of my mouth as if committing it to memory. Knowing him, he probably was.  
Again, the kiss ended naturally. Immediately, Sherlock pulled away to turn and sit sideways on the couch with one leg tucked up beneath him. Softly, I touched his face and brought him close, kissing him with increased fervor. A heated battle for dominance ensued, one that neither of us won.  
Just as he shifted to take things further, I broke away. "No," I murmured. "Not too fast."  
His eyes narrowed. "Why? I'm not going to break, and I'm not scared."  
"I know, but things like this need to be taken slowly." My voice remained gentle, but I let it become more firm. This was one thing I would not back down on.  
Sherlock's eyes studied me, so I let him. "Come to bed?"  
"Sherlock, what did I just--"  
"To sleep. Just to sleep," he cut me off.  
I narrowed my eyes at him, but I had no more luck deducing his intentions than usual. Oh, well. "Fine. But only sleeping, got it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, I love you guys and I am especially fond of comments; no matter what they are about! If there are any corrections to be made, please tell me. I am a total grammar Nazi. Also, let me know if you think I'm straying too far from their personalities or doing a horrible job at any aspect of this. That would be cool of you.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock bounded off the couch, pulling me with him. We walked down the hall to his room and fell into his bed. As soon as I got the blankets situated around myself, Sherlock curled himself around my body. Oddly enough, we fit together remarkably well. I tucked my nose into his mop of hair and fell into a deep slumber.

~ ~ ~

When I woke in the morning, I found a gently snoring Sherlock still tucked against my side. I carefully pulled out of his embrace, placing a pillow in my place. With that, I padded first to the bathroom to relieve myself, then to the kitchen to fix some tea.

Just as I poured the water into a pair of mugs, a pair of arms snaked their way around my waist and a nose pressed itself into the crook of my shoulder.

“You needn’t worry about my sleep; I’ve already gotten enough in the past few days to last until the next case,” my flatmate’s voice rumbled into my ear, still heavy with sleep. “Frankly, I’d be worried that I’m getting so much sleep.”

My head fell back against his shoulder as his lips started moving against my skin. “You don’t get enough sleep. As your doctor, I recommend that you get at least a few hours each night.” I dropped the kettle and mugs on the counter and turned to face him. “Frankly, I don’t know how you haven’t dropped dead of sleep deprivation yet.”

He smirked and tightened his arms around my torso, pulling me in for a kiss. My hands migrated up his arms and into his hair, tangling themselves there. Using that leverage, I tilted his head to the side to deepen the kiss. The counter dug into my back, but I couldn’t care less. Not when this man was trapped in my embrace, his hands moving to my waist and up the shirt I wore to bed last night and—

_Wait, what?_

“Sherlock, I—“

“Boys!”

We froze. Mrs. Hudson’s steps echoed up the stairwell as she made her way up the seventeen steps to our flat. I looked at Sherlock, silently asking him if we should tell her yet. He shook his head minutely, so we broke apart. I continued to pour the tea while Sherlock went to head off our landlady, allowing my time to compose myself.

“Good morning, Mrs. Hudson,” came Sherlock’s voice. “What brings you up here at this time?”

“Well, aren’t you two up early this morning? I just came up to bring you some breakfast; you’re looking far too thin.”

I stood next to the entry of the sitting room by then. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. Let me just take that for you. Won’t you sit down?”

“Oh, are you awake as well? I don’t mean to intrude; I just thought I’d bring you boys something to eat.” She ignored my outstretched arms and took the tray into the kitchen herself.

As she busied herself in there, no doubt fixing us all a cup of tea, I met Sherlock’s eyes across the room.

_You’re certain you want to wait to tell her? She’ll find out eventually._

_Yes, I’m sure._ He sat down in his chair just as Mrs. Hudson came bustling in, handing each of us a cup and taking a seat in my faded red chair. I sighed inwardly and took a seat on the couch, facing both of them.

“So, what are you boys up to today?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

I opened my mouth, but Sherlock beat me, answering, “Oh, I have a few experiments to start.” He met my gaze and smirked, making me roll my eyes and hope that Mrs. Hudson had missed the whole exchange.

“I need to run to Tesco,” I said. “Do you want me to pick anything up for you?”

“Oh, no thank you, dear,” she responded. “I’m all stocked up at the moment.”

“Great. I’m going to take a shower, then shove off right away. Good morning.” I finished my tea and took it to the kitchen before heading into the bathroom. Just after I stepped in, the door opened.

“Sherlock! I’m taking a shower.”

“No, really?” came the snarky response. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Why are you in here, then?” I poked my head past the curtain. The great git stood there and shoved his toothbrush into his mouth and began brushing.

He looked at me in the mirror and gave me the same look he gave me on our first case. It screamed, “Don’t be an idiot.”

_Whatever._ I turned back to my shower and waited until the door opened and shut ten minutes later to turn the water off and dry myself. Once I donned my dressing gown, I exited and trudged up to my room. It seemed cold and empty after not sleeping in it for the last two days. Ignoring that feeling, I pulled on jeans and my oatmeal jumper.

Downstairs, I found Sherlock pulling on his coat and scarf near the door. I paused. “What are you doing?”

“Coming with you.” The _don’t be an idiot_ was implied.

My brow furrowed. “But you hate shopping. You won’t even go out to get milk.”

“Get your coat on; it’s cold out.” With that, he turned and practically skipped down the stairs, coat flapping behind him.

Still puzzled, I did as he told and followed him to where he waited by a cab. I told the driver our destination as I settled into my seat.

About half way to the shop, I felt a hand on my thigh. Without looking away, I reached down and twined my fingers through Sherlock's. His hand remained as a warm, steady presence for the rest of the short ride.

When we arrived, Sherlock paid the driver and we made our way into the store. I handed off a trolley to my flatmate while I perused the aisles for the items on our shopping list. Along the way, Sherlock would occasionally add something for his experiments, including pigs’ feet. He would also murmur small deductions to me about our fellow shoppers, some so wild that I could barely believe them. After those, I’d look at him and he’d be holding back a grin.

“I swear, they’re out to get me,” I exclaimed as the chip and pin machine rejected my card again. Sherlock had been hovering behind me, almost breathing down my neck. He reached past and swiped his card instead, which, of course, was automatically accepted.

“Now, let’s go,” he demanded. “I have an experiment to begin.”


End file.
